


Where words don't reach

by naye



Series: Days of living dangerously, happy [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: And Justice Makes Three, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Post-DA2, Romance, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5623780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naye/pseuds/naye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justice is an impossible enemy - Hawke can't afford to let him win, but she can't defeat him without risking everything she loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hawke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skuldchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuldchan/gifts).



“Calm,” Hawke tried, crouching over the unconscious body while she clutched helplessly at her daggers. Deadly and precise, she could do anything with them in a fight, and they were utterly useless here. _She_ was utterly useless here, and if it was one thing Hawke hated it was feeling useless. Well – there were a lot of other things she hated. Here was another: watching the man she loved disappear right before her eyes. “Anders, calm down.”

Anders’ dark eyes were glowing an unreal blue, light dancing over his skin and flickering from his fingertips. “ _The Templar must pay_ ,” Justice was saying, through Anders’ mouth, not in Anders’ voice.

“He yielded!” Hawke shouted, hoping that she wasn’t protecting a dead body at this point.

“ _He attacked the mage!_ ” Justice thundered back

If this wasn’t such a dangerous situation in every sense, Hawke would roll her eyes at the willful blindness – Anders could be stubborn, true, but Justice was ten times worse. “She cast a Death Hex on an unarmed man!”

“ _She was getting her rightful vengeance against her oppressor!_ ”

Hawke shook her head, cold sweat prickling her shoulder blades – she wasn’t getting through to him; to Anders. That didn’t mean she couldn’t keep trying – mainly because the alternative didn’t bear thinking of.  “Anders, you can’t,” she pleaded. “He’s _unconscious_.”

Justice loomed over her, seeming taller and more threatening than Anders ever did. “ _Step aside!_ ”

Again, Hawke shook her head, breath coming as ragged as if she were in the midst of a raging battle. She couldn’t let Anders kill the Templar – she knew what it would do to him, to regain control of himself only to have the blood of a helpless prisoner on his hands. It would _break him_ , and Hawke would not allow that. She didn’t know how she could stop him, but she had to try. Maker’s breath – she had to do better than that. She could not let this happen. “Anders, listen to–” The blast of ice came with no warning, but Hawke was intimately familiar with Anders’ body; Anders’ magic. Before it hit, she had spun around, shielded the fallen Templar with her back, at the same time protecting her hands and face.

Next he’d use pure spirit – a force she could do nothing against, and that her runes could dampen, not stop. “Anders!” Hawke screamed, flinging herself from the defense to the offense, hoping that he would hear her; would stop – but no, the blue glare was blinding now, coming somehow from inside Anders’ very skin.

Hawke grunted as the first bolt hit her – an invisible blow she couldn’t parry – and spun to avoid the space she knew Justice would expect her next. She must keep her body between Justice and the Templar – the young man was too injured to survive even a glancing spell – and she must stop him. Somehow. Her teeth clenched around a curse as pain bloomed under her skull, like piercing nails. So – good job on catching that, but it didn’t get her any closer to – what? Stabbing her lover? It might stop Justice – Vengeance – but it would also leave Anders with a serious case of having just been stabbed.

Justice was radiant, face a mask of rage, Anders’ staff in one hand, fingers of the other spread and pointing against her – another spell coming, but he was within stabbing range – _do something_! Hawke couldn’t tell if it was her own voice in her head, or if she was imagining Anders calling for her.

“Maker forgive me,” she breathed, and threw herself into the most difficult attack she had ever attempted – worse than going up against ogres or dragons or any other mindless evil because it was _Anders_.

The feeling as her dagger connected, sinking into the flesh of Anders’ shoulder and striking the bone beneath was sickening – Hawke would almost rather have stabbed herself. Justice swiped after her with the staff, not changing his expression from rage to pain in the small glimpse Hawke got of it as she gathered her own power into a flip that took her clear over his head and landed her at his back – and there! A moment’s opening, as Justice took aim at the Templar crumpled in his own blood, forgetting to guard against the physical threat of Hawke at his back.

With a regular enemy, Hawke could have ended the fight in one of seven different strokes in that one fraction of a second. With Justice holding Anders hostage – Hawke reversed the dagger, used the pommel to strike at the back of his skull. Hard – dangerous, but less dangerous than sticking him with the pointy end. Just in case that wasn’t going to work, she also kicked him in the back of one knee, and then twirled around and did a low sweep, cutting his legs from out of him as his body was still just beginning to react to the multiple impacts.

Anders body made a dull thud as it fell, and Hawke had never been so relieved to see him go down – or so guilty. She should have been able to stop it – stop him, _save_ him – before it came to this. She was at his side in a moment, and her breath caught as the blue glow stayed – and as it faded, she exhaled, thanking the Maker, thanking Andraste, thanking the Old Gods and anyone else who might be listening as Anders drew his own, slow breath. Her hand came away from a gentle touch sticky with blood, but it wasn’t gushing – he was alive; he wasn’t dying.

Reluctantly, she rose to do a similar check on the Templar, the mage who attacked him having fled at Justice’s little demonstration of abominationess. Clearly, even newly minted apostates and wannabe Templar-killers drew the line at hanging out and watching a possessed man murder someone. Good for her.

Then Hawke went back to Anders, and began hoisting his limp body over one shoulder – it was extremely awkward, and painful against the ice burns, but with enough determination she knew she could manage to get his scrawny frame out of immediate harm’s way. They would have no allies now, nobody to rely on – not in this. Hawke sighed, and started hauling.


	2. Anders

Pain came back first, pulsing nauseatingly through a body that seemed mostly made of bruises. Then came a disjointed anger, like something carried over from a dream – fury, but with no cause or direction. He was angry, but he could remember nothing to be angry about and that scared him – Justice. What had he done? Anders forced his eyes open, and could see rough walls, dim light – winced, because it was enough to hurt his blurry vision, but he had to keep trying. He had hardly stirred before Hawke was there, slightly out of focus but still at his side, concern in her voice as she said his name, relief in her smile.

“Anders? How are you feeling?”

Nauseated and mad, which was nice and terrifying.

“What happened?” he tried to say, but his voice came out a croak.

Hawke knelt down by his cot, and held a flask of water to his lips. It was cool and clear and helped push the nausea away for a moment.

“It’s alright,” Hawke told him, propping him up with one arm. “We’re in the gatekeeper’s hut – she ran. Nobody will look here for a while yet.”

It was frustrating how none of that made sense – what was the last thing Anders could remember? Walking, the roads muddy after rain. Talking about following rumors to a mage-hold? He winced. The back of his skull throbbed, and with Hawke steadying him he sat up and brushed his fingers over the area – the way his vision flared into red-tinged black at the first touch told him how bad it was even before the swelling and scabbing and general head  wound markers registered.

“Sorry,” Hawke said, and Anders didn’t understand that either.

“Just tell me what happened,” he snapped, and immediately regretted it when she flinched, sinking back on her heels.

“How much do you remember?” Hawke asked, voice quiet.

Slightly more in focus now, she seemed far more pale than usual, her hair matted, her blue eyes shadowed. The sight rattled Anders – aggravated his anger, his unease. “I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to…”

“No. It’s alright, I–” Hawke’s jaw clenched, and then she shook her head determinedly. “Wait, no. It’s _not_ alright. But not like this – you still look like a newly raised corpse. Can you… do something?”

Magic. Yes. That was usually what Anders did. He closed his eyes, saw dots of red and flecks of blue fire and tried reached for his magic. His mana reserves were low – the pain wasn’t helping, and what was there kept slipping out of his grasp. For a few moments he wrestled with the resistance, unsure what was happening, and then he realized – every time he gathered focus for healing, it would slip away, leaving him holding a bundle of energy ready to be hurled as a weapon.

Anders gasped, eyes opening wide, and he scrambled to his feet as if moving physically might get him further away from that horrifying discovery. “Andraste’s _tits_!” he cursed, and as Hawke stood and made to follow him he waved her away. “No, no – be careful. It’s -”

“Justice?” Hawke asked, and Anders realized she’d grabbed his staff from somewhere, was holding it in both hands.

“Am I glowing?” Anders asked, surprised.

Hawke gave small negative shake of the head. “No, not glowing. Not yet.”

“Then how did you know?”

Hawke snorted. “One, because it’s _always_ Justice with you, and two, because he was pretty pissed last I saw him.”

Anders buried his face in his palms, worst fears confirmed. The anger that had been in him since he woke up, even keener than the pain – the lack of memories. It was all Justice. And that anger was refusing to ebb, was corrupting the very fabric of his healing to channel it into hurting instead. “Oh, Maker.”

“Do you remember anything?” Hawke asked, still a cautious staff length away.

Anders looked back up, shaking his head numbly. A mistake – it made nausea rise in his throat, and he froze, swallowing. Fighting down bile and rage, both waiting to spew out – now that was some ugly symmetry. “Are you alright? Did I…” he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask.

Hawke quirked her lips – the smile didn’t reach her eyes, but the familiar gesture was deeply reassuring. “Not for lack of trying,” she said, confirming another fear, “But you still haven’t got anything on my speed.”

“You should go,” Anders said, choking on his shame and Justice’s rage and everything else. “It’s not safe–”

“Anders,” Hawke said, and covered the distance between them to lay a hand on his cheek. “Hush.”

“But–”

“We’ve already had this fight,” Hawke reminded him. “You lost.”

“But now–”

“You need me.”

Anders couldn’t deny the absolute truth of that. He needed Hawke more than anything – for years, she had been the only thing keeping him as sane as he was. If he lost her now… But that was selfish. “I don’t deserve you.”

Hawke’s fingers were cold on his cheek. “And what do I deserve?” she asked, voice steady.

Anders looked into her eyes, and was lost – he could never deny Hawke anything. “Someone better, someone…”

“And if it’s you I want?”

A blow would have been easier to take – easier to defend against. Anders’ gut clenched with emotion, his heart pounding against his ribs. Love, regret, defeat. The fury fading, dying.

“Then you are a fool,” he whispered, closing the distance between them as Hawke pulled his head to her shoulder.

“And a scoundrel,” Hawke agreed. “Yes. So I’ve been told.”

Anders heard the clack of his staff dropping to the stone floor, and Hawke enveloped him in a hug that took his breath away. He sagged against her, and she held him tight, kept him from falling. The blue sparks were fading from his vision, but so was everything else.

“Whoa,” Hawke said, and maneuvered him awkwardly back to bed. “Want to try the healing now?”

Anders did. He tried again, and leaning against Hawke on the bed he reached the mana and channeled to weave his healing – purging, cleaning, knitting flesh and skin and dampening the pain and nausea. Nothing fought him for the power this time, and he breathed a shaky sigh of relief when he was done and opened his eyes to a world that had stopped wavering. “Thank you,” he said, looking at Hawke, love mingling with guilt. “I… I don’t know how to apologize.”

Hawke gave him a mischievous smile. “I’ll think of something when you’re less… invalid-like.”

“I’m so sorry – whatever Justice did… I can’t remember. I know we were going to somewhere… Wycombe?”

Hawke shrugged. “It’s alright. It’s over now. We helped some of the mages who’d wandered this way.” She paused, eyed him with her dirty brow crinkling in concern. “And then… How good are you feeling right now?”

“I’m fine,” Anders said.

“Well, _that’s_ a lie. But you’re… _you_?”

Not blaming Hawke for having to ask, Anders nodded.

“Good, because – you might want to hold on to yourself.”

Anders reached a hand out for hers, laced their fingers together. “There,” he said, at her surprised look. “It’s always easier with you at my side.”

Hawke swallowed. “Yeah, about that…” She took a breath, and filled him in on the situation with the captive templars, the vengeful mages. Her stepping in to save one of the young men, and Justice reacting. Badly. And she hadn’t been wrong – being reminded of the events made Justice stir in rage, but Anders squeezed Hawke’s hand and refused to let those feelings grab another hold in him.

“And then I knocked you out,” Hawke finished her explanation. “Sorry. I should’ve…”

“You did what you have to,” Anders hurried to assure her. “If I’d killed that templar like that – if I’d hurt you…” He shuddered, and wished he could hide, or run, or get away from the stabbing guilt at all the pain he had caused his Hawke – at all she had gone through on his account. But he couldn’t – he would never run away again. Couldn’t, not from Hawke, even if staying defied all sanity, on both their parts.

Hawke shook her head. “I won’t pretend it isn’t bad,” she said. “But the only way we can do this is together. So don’t you dare go anywhere.”

“I wasn’t–” Anders started to protest.

“Anders,” Hawke said, taking him by the shoulders. “I saw you _disappear_. You were gone. So I _know_ what that feels like. And if you ever do that to me again, if you ever fucking _dare_ try to leave to ‘protect me’ or because I deserve better or any other idiotic reason I’m sure you’ve already thought of, I will find you, and I will _end you_.”

Anders smiled – he couldn’t help it. The joy at having her by his side, the relief of hearing the love in her words, even if it did end on a threat to his life… “You know, I’m not sure ending me is the best–”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Hawke said, clearly done talking. And Anders never could refuse her.


End file.
